The Name of Godric Gryffindor
by Nightwitch87
Summary: We have learned that Gryffindor is the best house, the house of honour, the house of courage throughout the series. Yet sometimes, it takes a different kind of courage to be different. Main character: Albus Severus Potter


**T****he Name of Godric Gryffindor**

The room was neither large nor small, not extraordinary in size, and yet it exercised a strange fascination on the boy. He stopped on the doorstep, glancing around in awe. 'Professor? Um, hello?'

All of the figures in the impressive portraits turned their heads towards him, unless, of course, they were sleeping or off to spy on the students somewhere, which he figured they did quite a lot. The warm rays of the autumn sun caused the dust to sparkle in the air like glitter, making him wonder just how much of it there was in this room. A lot, he guessed, from the looks of it. As the light fell on the desk and shelves, several fine, shining silver objects caught his attention. Their purpose was a mystery to him, but they were pretty, and stood out from the dark furniture. On any other day, finally getting to see this room would have excited him beyond anything, even more than watching a Quidditch game, he thought, but as it was, he was simply scared and careful not to touch anything, as much as he wanted to.

'Well, well, well…if it isn't another Potter boy' a nasal voice stated from the wall. He jumped and turned his head, meeting the gaze of a stern, haughty-looking old man. He had to be one of the former headmasters of the school; his dad had told him all about them. The other portraits began murmuring in excitement, but it was this man's voice which carried.

'How do you know?' The headmaster shook his head in disapproval. 'I mean how could you tell, sir?'

'Ha! How could I not know? We see quite a lot of your brother here, that is to say, unfortunately, and even more of your father in his day.'

He grinned at the thought of James getting told off all the time, when he kept claiming that he had never been caught.

'I don't find that particularly amusing! Come to think of it, even your grandfather spent much more time here than necessary. A lot of troublemakers, that's what you are.'

'Phineas!' a younger woman spoke up, outraged. 'Don't scare the child! And how dare you insult Harry Potter's family?' She turned to him with a broad, welcoming smile on her face. 'What is your name, boy?'

'Albus Severus Potter' he replied quietly. It was a weird moment, listening to the ancient headmistress talk to him in that sweet, sluggish tone, with her old-fashioned dress robes, wig, posh accent and all.

Most of the other headmasters reacted with more animated whispers and approving nods, whereas the man called Phineas seemed annoyed, as he could see out of the corner of his eye. Al didn't even care, because the only portrait that fascinated him was the large one directly behind the desk, the one with an old, silver haired man on it, the one with the man who had given him his first name. Dumbledore had remained silent all along, impervious to the muttering going on around him, but had not once taken his gaze off the boy. The blue eyes seemed to pierce him and, although the headmaster was smiling kindly, it made him feel uncomfortable. It was only a portrait, a picture, and still the man in it appeared to be able to look right through him. He broke the brief eye contact and pretended to be exploring the study more, still reluctant to actually walk around.

'So what did you do?' Phineas asked bluntly.

'Uh…sorry?'

'You are here, so you obviously must have done something. Don't try to deny it.'

'I…I tried to get into Gryffindor tower, sir.' He could feel himself blushing, desperately trying to fight it. Blushing was for girls. If his older brother could see him now, he would be in for days of teasing.

'I can't see what's wrong with that' another, more recent headmaster exclaimed in surprise.

'I'm not in Gryffindor' he muttered.

'Not in Gryffindor? Why, you're Harry Potter's son! We know your father...' _Like the rest of the world_, he added mentally. His father, the great hero. And now him. Not even able to get into the best house. He could see why they were disappointed.

Steps on the stairs made him turn his head. The Headmistress entered her study without greeting him, sat down behind her desk, and pointed to the other chair behind it invitingly. As he approached it, she sighed, something he had never heard her do before. Then again, he hadn't really known her for that long. 'Mr Potter.'

He could just feel it coming, the reprimand, the punishment, the disappointment, any moment now…except she was staring at him in silence. Why was she staring? 'Professor?'

'Frankly, I can't believe it is even getting to this. You have been warned once, twice, punished by both Mr Filch and Professor Lecroux. You haven't even been here for a full month yet, and are in my study already, because you keep committing the same offence again and again.'

He didn't say anything. How could he, when she was right, and had done nothing but repeated the facts so far. Instead, he kept studying the items on her desk with intense interest, trying to come up with some sort of defence.

'Look at me, Mr Potter.'

He looked up at her strict, lined face, wondering why it was that his parents, and even Teddy, seemed to admire her so much. His Uncle George had told him once, a long time ago, when he had been a child, that she had the devil's stare and could look through walls and freeze you with it. Of course he hadn't believed him. Not really, anyway.

'I want you to tell me what in Gryffindor's name is going on here. No more excuses.'

'I didn't get into Gryffindor' he explained quietly.

'And that is a reason for trying to _break _in? You were lingering in front of the portrait for hours, trying to guess the password, have attempted to sneak in with other students, once using an invisibility cloak, even tried to bribe the lady! Skipping classes on two occasions, I must add. What I need you to grasp, Potter, is that you can never get into Gryffindor House just by being in Gryffindor Tower, physically, do you understand me?'

'But the Sorting Hat got it wrong!' he blurted out.

Headmaster Phineas gasped. 'Impertinent child! Minerva, how can you tolerate your students addressing you like that? In my day-'

'I am quite capable of handling this myself, Phineas' she interrupted him sharply. 'Mr Potter, the Sorting Hat most certainly never "gets it wrong". It has been used for centuries, generations of wizards and witches have been reliably assigned to houses by it. I highly doubt that it suddenly erred in your case.'

It was impossible. Why did everyone believe a stupid, old piece of rags? If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he was supposed to be in Gryffindor, where generations of Potters had been. 'But I don't want to be in Ravenclaw! I don't want to be a coward.'

'Enough!' Her eyebrows had clustered together in the middle of her forehead, her wrinkles even deeper than before. 'Ravenclaw is an excellent house, a house that has brought forth some of the brightest wizards and witches in history! It has _nothing _to do with cowardice!' If Ravenclaw was such a great place, why was it that she, the headmistress, had been head of Gryffindor? 'I will not tolerate it being slandered by you, or anyone else. And neither will I tolerate your escapades anymore. Your parents will be sent a letter, and you are not to go near Gryffindor Tower, is that clear?'

'Yes, Professor.' He felt like he had just shrunk in his seat. At this moment, he knew, knew that there was nothing more to do, no possibility of changing the way things were. He would always be the outsider, who wasn't quite good enough. And what would his parents say? His dad might shrug it off, or scold him a bit, but his mum would definitely get angry with him. He could just hear her voice ringing in his ears.

There was an awkward pause, during which McGonagall's expression softened a bit. For a moment, he even thought he'd seen a hint of a repressed smile on her lips. 'There is no reason to worry; it always takes some time to…adjust. And I dare say you possess enough stubbornness for it, just like your father.'

A warm feeling spread inside him when she compared him to his dad, but it vanished quickly. She was just saying that to make him feel better, anyway. He heard Phineas snort, although he wouldn't open his mouth again. 'My father was in Gryffindor. So was my grandfather. Like James, Rose and Hugo. And Teddy.'

'I understand. But you are in Ravenclaw, and there is no way of changing that. Perhaps you should try to get to know your housemates, before judging them so harshly and spending all your time lingering in front of a portrait. Mr Po- Albus, I have seen thousands of students come to Hogwarts and leave again, and I assure you that not one of them thought they had been assigned to the wrong house in retrospect.'

He nodded, more to please her than out of conviction.

'Now if you'll excuse me, Potter, I have some matters I need to attend to. You are dismissed.'

Did that mean she would let him get away with it this time? Well, she would write to his parents, sure, and that was bad enough, but no more weeding, no more sorting books in the library? McGonagall got up from her chair and left the study with one quick, swooping movement. He wanted to follow her, before that Phineas so-and-so could tell him off again.

'Albus.' It was a softer, but strong voice that held him back.

He turned around and met the gaze of Headmaster Dumbledore. He was still studying him with a kind, wistful expression on his face. His parents had told him so much about the man who had his name, so much that it was like he knew him, his childhood hero, and yet he didn't know what to say to him. Seeing him like this, when he was breaking the rules, was intimidating.

Dumbledore folded his hands in front of his blue robes. 'As a member of Ravenclaw House, let me ask you a question. Will you answer?'

'Sure, um, of course, sir.' What could Albus Dumbledore possibly want to ask him?

'What did Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Salazar Slytherin and Helga Hufflepuff have in common?'

'Nothing' was the first answer that came to mind. Nothing as characters, anyway. Except for Hogwarts, of course, but that was too easy. No, this was like one of the riddles they got before they could enter the common room, you had to think twisted, ask what it was really asking to understand the question. The books he had read about Hogwarts and its founders had only talked about how they had argued and split up, and argued again, until Slytherin had left the school. Always in conflict because of their opinions. And that was it. The answer was so obvious he wasn't even sure if it could be right.

'Nothing. They had in common that they were different from each other.'

Dumbledore beamed at him, nodding in approval. 'A wise answer indeed. They were different. So was every great wizard, in some way. There is no way to be outstanding if one is the same as everybody else.'

It took a moment for the words to sink in until the realisation as to why the former headmaster had given him the riddle to solve hit him like a badger. A million rocks seemed to lift from his heart, and although he still would have preferred being in Gryffindor with his friends, he understood. Finally understood. He smiled. 'Thank you, Professor.'

'You're welcome, my dear boy' Dumbledore replied with the same warm smile he had shown him when he had first entered the study.

He wished he could have stayed longer and talked to him, talked to him for ages, but that would have been inappropriate. It was McGonagall's office after all, sadly. She was all right, really, if somewhat scary, but it was Dumbledore who seemed like he knew everything. He had that weird wisdom look going on that made Al want to ask him everything and nothing. Or maybe he just liked him.

He was already on his way out, when the headmaster stopped him again. 'It's best not to spend too much time brooding over the person we would rather be.' His words sounded somewhat detached, but thoughtful. Whether Dumbledore was talking to him, to himself, or to no one in particular, he couldn't be sure.

'There is no dishonour in being different, Albus. The only dishonour lies in not fulfilling your potential.'


End file.
